


Washout Clean

by ALittleWhitLost



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: I don't even know what other relationships to tag here to be quite honest, M/M, Zemyx - Freeform, like 'rolling the dice' is not even a metephor yo, tabletop roleplay au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 09:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7216762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleWhitLost/pseuds/ALittleWhitLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is this what putting your life back together feels like?  Or is it something else entirely?  After the time spent in a place he and Vexen unspokenly agreed never to discuss, Demyx doesn’t know how to be sure.  All he knows is he’s a fish out of water surrounded by odd animals like the guys who roll the dice to tell their stories, and the girl who’s seeking out second-best, and the bartender and the fixer and someone who might be just like him, after all.  When you throw your life away, you don’t get to just pick it up again.  So, what do you do?  Zemyx mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washout Clean

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

**Washout Clean**

I - Or am I Origami (Folded Up and just Pretend) 

_-‘Inside Out’ Eve 6_

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

It was the sort of thing one traditionally didn’t talk about in their family, and so explaining to Vexen even the short version of the scenario had been something of an endeavor in itself. Demyx’s cousin was a prime example of everything a young man from their shared breeding pool ought to be. He was hyper intelligent, absolutely logical, high-achieving, and on the fast track to lifelong success in a very respectable field of science. He was very tall and had a fair, even complexion and smoothly tamed hair. He had impeccable posture, effortlessly perfect manners, and had never had so much as a grade below a B in his entire life. It was a topic of conversation that had been had around holiday dinner tables on more occasions than one. Vexen was the very definition of pride. 

Demyx was something else. 

He was tall and long-limbed like his cousin but had what were undeniably weird proportions. His shoulders were wide almost like a swimmer’s, though his body had never been honed strong and lean like one. Instead he was rather skinny, lanky, and big-footed. His hair had never been smooth nor in any way tamable, and he had a massive cowlick at the back of his crown that could not and would not be flattened out. By the time he’d reached high school he’d had to give up on recognizable style and invent a haircut which could accommodate it, such was the seriousness of the hair offense. His eyelashes were pale, his nose ran on the large side, and his skin had never been described using words like, _even_ or _fair_. At twenty-three he still had persisting blemishes and scars on his shoulders and freckles still popped up across every unprotected inch of skin in the summertime. 

Let’s not even get started on personality. 

Whatever the sad, sad truth of it was, Demyx and Vexen were kin, and when one is part of a family- no matter what distance lays between them or what falling-out’s had been suffered in the past- one must do what they can to lend a hand, from time to time. Freezing-cold as Vexen could be, Demyx knew he used to have a little sweetness in him too, at least when they were very small. And after all, this was the only chance he hadn’t yet squandered, so if nothing else it had to be worth the ask. 

_“And why, pray tell, haven’t you called someone else-?”_ He could hear the irritation building in Vexen’s tone, sharpening like a shard of glass against the receiver in his hand. He licked his lips, leaned back against the white painted cinderblock wall, and dared to say a little inward prayer. _God, if you can stand to even listen to a person like me, **please** …_

“No one else will pick up.” The words seemed to echo, though he knew that was likely only in his imagination; his mind filling the gaps left by the stunned silence that followed his admittance. He leaned his head back against the cool wall, held the phone receiver as steady as he could, and closed his eyes. Breathe. In through the nose. Pause. Out through the mouth. Okay. And again. 

_“Fine.”_ It came out as a sigh so sharp Demyx startled, rattling his head against the wall and clutching the plastic receiver tightly. _“But don’t think it’ll be easy. I’m not a hotel, you know.”_

“Thank you.” Demyx breathed through the lump in his throat he hadn’t noticed before, sincere and heavy as the grave. 

_“Fine.”_ Vexen repeated impatiently. _“Is there anything else-?”_

“N-no.” Demyx leaned forward, filled suddenly with energies he didn’t know what to do with. “No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you at the front tomorrow…?” 

_“Alright. Be ready precisely at two and not a second later. I don’t have endless time to ferry you around, after all. I’m a very busy man.”_

The line cut out before he could reply. 

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

A day later Demyx was dropping his bags on the floor of the smaller bedroom in the back end of Vexen’s fourth floor apartment just outside the historic downtown end of Hollow Bastion. Vexen tugged the blinds open with a jerk, letting in the greyish light of the seasonally average rainy day. Demyx could hear it pattering against the glass pane and the ironwork outside, combining with the city sounds beyond as a dreary sort of music to replace conversation between them. 

The bedroom he would be calling his own for whatever length of time he had to, was clearly meant for guests. It featured little aside from undecorated white walls, a full sized bed draped in a grey-plaid comforter, a bedside table, and a small set of drawers which might also act as a writing desk, or maybe a dressing table given the mirror above. It was all very clean, set very close together in the tiny space, and seemed designed to encourage guests to be comfortable enough to visit but not comfortable enough to stay very long. Demyx shivered from a chill that might have been imagined. 

Vexen stared out the window blankly for a time, frowning, and then turned his back to the uninspiring view to instead give Demyx a compulsory once-over. Bony hands resting on his hips, looking down a rather sharp nose at his younger relative, Vexen didn’t speak. Demyx faltered under his stare, ducking his head towards the pristine carpet and shuffling in his sneakers. In the years since they’d last seen each other Demyx had closed the height gap between them nearly, become more an adult than a child, and yet he still felt as small under Vexen’s judgement as ever. 

A stone fist in his chest tightened around his heart and it was as though he was fifteen again. He was months away from any real growth spurts and still carrying thirty pounds of something his mother called baby-fat, and Vexen was in front of him with his hands on his hips, so many inches taller and glaring down his sharp nose because it didn’t matter that he was already well on his way to his first degree when Demyx was barely in high school, and seven years is a such long head start in life. It didn’t matter because Demyx couldn’t spell the word _obituary_ out loud, and he hadn’t written anything by way of one for the grandfather they shared, and his tie was navy blue because his father didn’t have a black one to lend him. 

Vexen looked like Uncle Simon, and sometimes he looked at Demyx the way Uncle Simon looked at his mother. As though it was good they didn’t share a surname anymore, because her life was humiliating to explain to others. 

With a clearing of a throat and the knotting of his fingers together, Demyx broke the silence at last, simply incapable of standing it for a second longer. 

“This is great! Thanks.” If his voice shook, neither man present acknowledged it. 

“You’re welcome.” Vexen said flatly, though his tone was anything but welcoming. “I guess we should go over the rules, then.” 

Rules? Demyx lifted his gaze from the floor to consider his cousin’s face properly, finding himself somewhat surprised to see him much older than the image in his mind. At least he wasn’t as openly disdainful as he might have been. 

“I don’t care if you smoke or what you smoke- do it outside _only_.” He gestured behind him, towards the metal landing outside the window. “If I so much as catch a whiff of anything of the kind in here you’ll be on the curb before you can pack your toothbrush.” Demyx nodded hurriedly, but Vexen plowed on. “No loud noises or music after nine o’clock PM on weeknights, no guests I’ve not _personally_ okayed- even for a moment- and no leaving a mess behind you where you go. That goes for the kitchen and the bathroom- no leaving things lying about where they don’t belong. And lastly, I sometimes have guests over, and it’s imperative that you don’t bother them. They’re a collection of intellectuals like myself, and therefore they hardly have the patience for…” Vexen trailed off, seeming at a loss of exactly what to label his cousin. Demyx smiled weakly, sinking down in his skin, and nodded again. He didn’t need to hear it aloud. 

_For people like you._

“Got it.” He assured him earnestly, a hand pulling from the grasp of the other to scratch at the hair brushing the back of his neck. He needed to trim it soon. But the more pressing concern for a while was sure to be navigating Vexen’s home life while leaving as few ripples as possible. “I can keep out of the way, promise!” 

Vexen nodded shortly and offered him something that was probably intended to be a smile. “Very well. I actually had plans tonight, so if you’ll excuse me I should make sure my peers know I returned home on time.” He passed Demyx on his way out and the younger turned to follow him, hesitating in the bedroom doorway to watch the taller man’s retreating form. Swallowing hard and finding his voice, Demyx called after him, 

“Oh, uh- can I ask a question? Just real quick!” 

Vexen paused, took a quarter-turn, and quirked an eyebrow at him over his shoulder. Demyx grinned sheepishly. 

“It’s just, um, I was gonna go out in the morning if I could… I need to s-see about some, uh, classes? And I just… don’t know anything about public transit.” 

Vexen considered him for a tick, let out a little, “Hm,” and then merely shrugged. “Go out the front entrance of the building and take a left. Down the block is the nearest subway station- you can’t miss the stairs. They have maps down there.” Demyx nodded and tried to thank him, but Vexen was already disappearing into the public area of the apartment and out of sight. 

Rubbing his face tiredly and turning back to his new room, Demyx fought back a newly surfacing wave of nausea. He hadn’t expected a warm reception of any kind, the circumstances being what they were, but he had to admit he would have appreciated a little more help from the resident city-dweller on surviving out there. He’d never lived in a city before, and, well… 

Shaking the thoughts from his mind and taking a few deep breaths to quell the churning of his insides, he slid the long strap of his guitar case off of his shoulder and then bent to unzip the first of two bags. No time like the present for getting settled, he figured, and the sooner he got through his clothes, the sooner he could get his portable speaker from the floor of the suitcase. He dumped piles of jeans and shirts onto the bed for a start, and had just pulled out and plugged in the small blue speaker when he heard the apartment door open and Vexen exclaim something towards a newcomer. Demyx set the speaker down and tried not to listen while he fished through his pockets for his music player. 

It was hard to ignore though. He’d have liked to pretend it was only because he left the bedroom door partly open and voices naturally travel, but in truth there was something more to it. Vexen sounded… happy? Was that what that was? Demyx held still to listen more closely, hands hovering over the dresser on their way to plug in his music. 

“-didn’t call me back the other day. You aren’t two-timing me, are you?” A voice which was rather deeper than Vexen’s and tilted with what Demyx could only describe as a mocking quality was saying. Vexen scoffed loudly and Demyx listened as something heavy and made of glass was set on the kitchen counter. 

“And wouldn’t that be an exciting change?” He replied haughtily. “Me as the heartbreaker for once.” 

“Aw, do I break your heart, V-?” 

“Don’t be stupid!” Vexen shot back. Demyx frowned and wondered honestly if this was the voice of someone who was playing hard to get, or if he had actually been made angry, that fast. Something happened in the quiet though, which was broken by a laugh that put the query to rest. “I really hate you. You know that?” Vexen was saying a breath later. The deeper voice laughed too. 

“Yeah.” His voice carried no weight, as if this conversation was a familiar and welcome guest. “So- my place or yours?” Demyx heard water running in the sink, then a snipping sound he couldn’t place. Both men remained quiet as the work was done, and Demyx held still and just as mute as the minutes ticked by. Conversation resumed a second after the movements stopped as if it had never paused at all. 

“What you can do is buy me dinner.” Vexen said at last, and if Demyx didn’t know any better he’d say there was a smile in his tone. “I am not and never shall be a cheap date. This alone is not enough to buy my forgiveness and you know it.” The deep voice chuckled and Demyx listened to the resulting almost-quiet that could have been filled in the kitchen by anything. His mind supplied a kiss, but seeing as the only figure he knew in the scenario was his relative Demyx shook it away quickly. Ugh. No one wanted to imagine someone they grew up with having any kind of sexuality… even one as unexpected and familiar as this. 

“Fountain Court?” The deep voice suggested a moment later. Vexen hummed, drawing out his reply with an exaggerated moment of consideration. 

“Yes. And you can hear all about the _ridiculous_ week I’ve had.” The deep voice hummed too. Was that a… sexual sound? Ew ew ew- why was he even eavesdropping? Stop it Demyx! A snoop never hears things they want to know! 

“Yes, _or_ we could do something with a little less time for talking.” The stranger purred. Demyx heard a derisive snort that was probably Vexen, followed by footsteps in the hallway. He jumped and made sure he looked busy, eyes on the music player in his left hand. 

“Don’t count your chickens just yet.” Vexen scoffed as he stalked out of the master bedroom and back into the public side. Maybe it wasn’t what it sounded like? That tone of voice sure put a twist in his gut, and Vexen’s personal life could really be anything as far as Demyx knew… All the same, Demyx wondered if he was jumping to conclusions, but keys clanked against the bowl in the entry a moment later and the pair had gone. 

Demyx left his electronics on the dresser and crept through the apartment, peeking around doorways to make sure. No, he was alone alright. Nothing more to overhear for now, thankfully. Maybe that’s just the way people talked in places like this, Demyx told himself. Maybe in cities men weren’t so afraid of the ‘no-homo’ sort of stuff as they had been at home. Wouldn’t that be a blessed relief? Either way, Demyx felt secure in guessing that he had the place to himself for at least a couple of hours. Deciding that he should take the opportunity to get better acquainted with the workings of his new living space, he turned on his heel and stalked towards the further end of the apartment, through the living room. 

The kitchen was small but well-kept and very modern, featuring glistening counters made of some solid stone Demyx couldn’t name for certain, and dark upper and lower cabinets decorated by brushed steel handles. The tile floor extended just to the doorway towards the carpeted rest of the place, surrounding the narrow island and attached bar with only a little wiggle-room for the counter-height stools. The appliances were full-sized (a luxury in apartments, as far as Demyx had ever known) and brushed stainless steel. In the center of the island sat something that had not been there before. Demyx paused to look at it, feeling somewhat stunned. 

Filled two thirds of the way to the top with water, was a squarish, very modern looking heavy glass vase. Settled neatly into the water and draped over the rim was a large bunch of what could only be roses. They varied in hues between the palest pink and a rich blood red, long stems in the water a dark green, prickles of thorns visible to him here and there, nestled amongst the brilliant blooms and feathered leaves. Roses? _Roses_? 

Now Demyx would have a harder time than ever convincing himself that he had the wrong idea. 

Who bought anybody a bouquet of roses these days, even in a relationship? Demyx crept closer to inspect them, not daring to touch them out of irrational fear that Vexen would know that he had, and couldn’t resist the urge to openly gape. They really were. They were real, long-stem roses, and there had to be at least a dozen of them. Demyx didn’t know what to feel more shocked about- the fact that Vexen was capable of having romantic feelings, or that he was with (presumably) a man who was comfortable spending money on things like flowers. 

Dumbfounded, but curiosity piqued, Demyx took to exploring the rest of the home- all but his new roommate’s bedroom that is. He opened the cabinets to examine the bowls and plates (plain, white, and modern in design, but of a good quality), cups (of various heights and shapes meant for different beverages, but otherwise matching), and the contents of the pantry (what the hell is _quinoa_?) before turning towards the living room. Aside from the mysterious flowers, not much here was of terrible surprise. Vexen had always liked things just-so, and those clean-cut preferences reflected in every surface of his home. 

The living room was set up in a way that Demyx would consider generally typical, with a boxy sofa set against the kitchen wall, an armchair hanging off of it halfway between the back of the apartment and the door to the external hallway, and a television on a cabinet against the wall across from that. Tucked beside the door to the outside were two large bookcases, stacked with mainly nonfiction, but also a few paperbacks and a shelf or so of movies. The center of the room was where the typical living-area feeling began to dissipate. The coffee table was much larger than it needed to be, almost larger than the space allowed, and perfectly round. Beyond it, between the television and the bookcase was a large whiteboard, framed in chrome metal with two markers and an eraser set neatly on the lower edge of the frame. 

There were words written across the top of the board in blue ink and swooping, fluid cursive letters. _This Month’s Objective: Try to Minimize Civilian Casualties_. Demyx laughed despite himself. He couldn’t guess what that could possibly refer to, but his mind wildly supplied scenarios including but not limited to: Vexen the closet up-all-night MMO shoot-em-up gamer, and Vexen the crime lord ruling over the city’s thugs from his spotless cityscape apartment. He’d probably punish them for tracking dirt and blood across his perfect white carpet and lecture them on the importance of proper dietary choices. 

Demyx shouldn’t make fun, really he shouldn’t. 

Vexen was being kinder to him than he had to be- and certainly kinder than he wanted to be- and in all seriousness Demyx was truly grateful. He shouldn’t tease about a lifestyle which was… clearly and obviously superior to Demyx’s own. He really shouldn’t. 

The mental image was just too good to ignore, though. Vexen, with scary gang-sign tattoos hidden under the sleeves of his pressed shirt. Vexen, a crime lord with a pimp cane and pinstripes and a hat like a 30’s gangster. Vexen as _the one who knocks_. 

See, taking this kind of joy at the expense of the people around him and their imagined faults was probably a leading reason why Demyx didn’t really have any friends. 

Determined not to let the thought- which originated in the form of a _joke_ \- settle in ink-black and sticky atop his heart, Demyx retreated to the guest bedroom and his abandoned music setup there. It was only a few seconds more before the sounds of the most easily accessed radio station he could find filled the apartment. Top forty-type poppy music, it seemed, but Demyx didn’t mind it. The lack of silence was a relief, and even if it was only Thursday and it had to be well after eleven by now, Demyx left the volume up comfortably loud. 

It was like that saying about the tree falling in the middle of an empty forest. If Vexen wasn’t home to hear music playing after nine PM on a weeknight, was it still a breach of the rules? 

Demyx’s mouth moved soundlessly to the time of the lyrics ringing through his speaker, as he distributed his clothes into the empty dresser drawers. Jeans, long-sleeved t-shirts, a hoodie, a jacket, a couple of decent-looking polos and a single starched white button-up which clearly went with the only pair of black slacks Demyx had. His undergarments were just as conventional, aside from the mismatched and sometimes peculiar colors and patterns of his limited boxer collection. 

The suitcase got kicked under the bed and the second bag opened. Inside were a couple of things that hadn’t fit in the first, easily stuffed away with the rest, and then there was only a modest collection of knickknacks. Demyx looked the junk-drawer of a bag over incredulously, heaved a tired sigh, and decided not to deal with it tonight. If he had music and toiletries, and something reasonably clean to slip into in the morning then he was set up about as favorably as could be expected. He’d just dump it all out onto the bed or something in the morning, to have a bag to carry for books. 

By the time Demyx collapsed face-first onto the mattress and stayed there the night, Vexen had not returned from his date. When Demyx rose blurry and ill-rested with the sun the next morning, he seemed to have either not come back at all, or to have come and gone alarmingly early in the day. 

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

“O’Donohue, Demyx?” The lady’s voice rang out in the otherwise empty waiting area of the student services office of Hollow Bastion Community College. The so-named boy startled and leapt to his feet in an instant, a nervous smile reaching his lips by the time he met her at her post. She waved him on through her door and closed it behind her, leaving them very alone in a small but uncluttered office. The woman’s heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she walked towards her rolling chair and took a seat. Demyx sank into the wooden chair across the desk from her, picking at the frayed hem of his sweatshirt sleeve as he did. 

“How can I help you?” 

She was younger than he’d expected her to be, somewhat tall and authoritative, though her lips were painted coral and she was smiling. Her eyes were studying him closely through her wire-rimmed glasses, blond hair twisted expertly into a smooth bun at the base of her neck. Her skirt-suit was colored to match her lipstick, and well-pressed. A wooden plaque on her desk read _Quistis Trepe_. Demyx, feeling somewhat underdressed, swallowed thickly and worked out a reply. 

“Uh, yes. I talked to someone on the phone-“ He realized with a delayed sense of horror that he couldn’t remember a name of the supposed person. “-about classes. I think… we had… sort of… sorted it out so it would work? And they said I needed to sign some things.” 

Ms. Trepe hummed and turned towards her right, eyes straying to a monitor Demyx couldn’t read from his position and clicked away at the mouse under her manicured hand. 

“Oh, yes.” She said after an uncomfortably long silence, eyes darting back and forth as she read what Demyx could only assume was a file. “I was about to say it’s too late to sign up for the fall- classes started a couple of weeks ago now- but it looks like your circumstances are a bit special, then.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Demyx answered quickly, feeling heat creep progressively higher across his neck and onto his cheeks. “I wasn’t released in time to get here any sooner than today, but, u-um, I was told it would be alright?” 

“Yes…” She agreed distractedly, looking over her screen. “I’ve got you signed up for just an English 101 and… looks like a math.” 

“Is that all-?” Demyx asked, leaning forward slightly and furrowing his brows. Oh, no… Ms. Trepe met his gaze and nodded. 

“Mmhmm. I see you applied for full-time, but because of the delays you don’t qualify this semester. Your math and English teachers feel it’s possible to catch up at this point, but it wasn’t an opinion held by everyone.” She had the look about her of someone who wanted to come across as sympathetic, but who could not quite manage the emotion. Demyx’s stomach turned but he leaned back in his chair and nodded. 

“I understand.” Maybe it was a blessing in disguise? Easing back into things more slowly might not be so bad, really, even if he’d have Vexen’s judgements to deal with on the matter. All the same, he wondered how that might affect the finances of the whole thing. Less was surely cheaper than more, but would he still qualify for financial aid the same way? 

“It’s all in order though.” Ms. Trepe was saying, answering his unasked question while rolling backwards in her chair to collect a pile of papers fresh from the printer. She continued talking briskly while she marked them with a pen. “Sign where the exes are, and then I can get you a map and a schedule.” She seemed to think about it a moment and add in after-thought, “And I _think_ you can make your math class on time today if we hurry, so I’ll get you a note for that.” 

Demyx skimmed the legal mumbo-jumbo quickly, not bothering to commit much of it to memory- he was unlikely to understand it anyway- and signed off his name (and possibly his soul) everywhere he was meant to. In the time it took him, the student adviser printed off his information, marked the buildings he needed with circles in pen, and slid the thin pile across the desk. Demyx capped his pen and placed it on his own pile, and offered her a smile. 

“That should do it!” Ms. Trepe said, double-checking the pages herself before scooting to file them away in the metal drawers to her left. Demyx nodded and thanked her, and before he knew it, he was standing out in a misty rain, shivering at a chill which seemed greater than reasonable for only September, and comparing his schedule, map, and the time on his phone. Feeling dazed, but overall that the appointment could have gone a lot worse than it had, Demyx set out across the mismatched campus that served partly as the city’s community college, and partly (if he was reading the map right) as a site to house several community buildings including but not limited to the public library, a university bookstore, and… a civic center? 

Luckily for him the building he was looking for wasn’t too far from the administrative building, and wasn’t hard to find either. The interior was bright, about as clean as any school ever was, and dry but not much warmer than outside. Demyx ran his fingers through his hair, tugged the drooping front bits out and up in hopes of improving his unkempt appearance, and paced through the hallways on jittery legs. He had an unshakable feeling of being in high school again, a new student in a faraway place, under-prepared and not entirely welcome, and if he was completely honest, not entirely interested in setting foot inside. 

He hoped against hope that the class would be large enough that he might disappear within it, but when he found a door with the right number above it and stepped inside he determined that if there was a god, He was not feeling quite that generous today. The classroom was bigger than those where Demyx had last been to school- this was a city after all, and he’d only gone to a small county high school- but it was not by any means a concert hall of a space. The desks were arranged in something like a semi-circle, the rows all facing the main desk and board at the front, some already occupied by people of varying apparent ages but unvarying looks of heavy-eyed boredom. At the front stood a rather round man with thinning hair and a very square jaw. He was writing something up on the whiteboard when Demyx stepped in, but sensing the loitering near the doorway or maybe catching a glimpse of him at profile, the man looked over at him expectantly soon enough. 

“Uh… I-I’m Demyx O’Donohue.” Demyx tried uncertainly, his voice hushed to match the atmosphere of the room, but contrasting uncomfortably with the way he fiddled nervously for the paper the advisor had done up for him. The man brushed his hands off on his maroon sweater-vest, tugged a pair of glasses from a pocket Demyx hadn’t noticed, and reached to take it from his trembling hand. 

“Ah- right- so you found us. Call me Mr. Kramer. Do you have your book?” 

“No, sir.” Demyx admitted, ducking his head and swallowing against a very dry throat. The professor, however, seemed utterly unfazed by any of it. 

“Alright. Be sure to get that by Monday. For now have a seat where you like. Well see if we can get you up to speed.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Starting to breathe again- only just realizing that he’d stopped- Demyx shuffled towards an empty desk in what looked like an unsuspicious area of the room. Not too much out of sight as to seem like the troublemaking sort or to appear unwilling to participate, but not too much in the spotlight to go unnoticed. He fumbled through his damp bag for something he could take notes on and a pen, thinking vaguely that he would need to find a supply store in the near future for notebooks and the like or he’d never be able to find anything. As he did this others trickled in, all seeming to carry the weight of the gloomy day outside with them as they trudged towards their desks and chatted to one another. 

The class was slow and about what one might expect, fractions and equations and nothing too troubling even for someone like Demyx to handle. There wasn’t much discussion between students but he didn’t mind that. He could keep his head down and work on his own without seeming rude that way, so really it was more or less alright. 

So, Demyx found himself wondering two hours later as he packed up his things and referred back towards his map for the way out of here, was this what getting his life together looked like? 

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

An entire afternoon spent helplessly lost on the spider web of underground trains killed the thought before it could truly take root. Demyx was soaked from the on-again-off-again rain and windblown from trains whipping past in tunnels and freezing from the combined discomforts by the time he found a mercifully familiar looking billboard which so graciously could only be found (as far as he knew so far) at the stop he needed to get back to Vexen’s apartment. 

Oh, _Choco Chocobos_ , he thought with a fondness so exaggerated he might cry from the strength of it, if ever he wasn’t poorer than a gambling addict after the Olympic Games he would buy stock in _Choco Chocobos_. Surely, if not for them and their distinctive comic-strip advertisement, he would still be out wandering the streets come Christmas. Vexen sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted to come out and rescue him before then. 

It was getting dark by the time he emerged for the last time from the underground, cars whizzing past and people loitering around as the neon lights of Downtown began to flicker on around them. Demyx limped uphill on sore feet and into the building he was proud to have recognized at all, after the day’s ordeal. Three flights of stairs seemed daunting so he took the elevator, and was down the hall and pushing Vexen’s spare key into the lock after what seemed more like years than hours. 

Lights were on, but Vexen was nowhere to be seen inside. Demyx slipped out of his sneakers out of fear that tracking dirt might bring his cousin’s wrath down over his head (even though there hadn’t been an actual rule about it) and took himself to his bedroom. Vexen’s door was shut, he noticed as he passed. He wondered idly if the night before had gone well. If he’d ‘forgiven’ the flower-buyer yet. 

In Demyx’s new bedroom, all was more or less how it had been when he’d left that morning. The few books and DVDs, as well as the detritus of other small keepsakes out of his book bag were in a pile at the center of his bed, which had been left unmade. Yesterday’s clothes were in a heap in the far corner, but everything else was fairly tidy. Demyx shed today’s layers and dropped them with the rest, replacing them with dryer though similarly rumpled things. It would be a better use of his resources to shower first, but he was too sore and tired for that, and it had occurred to him only half an hour ago that he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so his priorities were in another place. 

Once dry and no longer shivering, Demyx dove into his backpack to collect a bag of provisions he’d gathered from a convenience store along the way home. He knotted the plastic handles around his fingers and stood, peeking around the door sheepishly before padding down the hall and through to the kitchen in his socks. 

It wasn’t much, but it would do for a start. After all the money he’d wasted on the subway, he expected to be eating light for a while anyway, and there was no time to start like the present. So it was cup-noodles and crackers mostly. Okay, so he had also bought a bottle of chocolate syrup but he would defend that choice to the death. At a trying time in a man’s life, after a hellish year and a stressful day, he was allowed certain comforts- and there were _definitely_ worse comforts for a man to choose than chocolate milk. 

_So there_. 

Feeling a little foolish at the realization he’d just argued with himself to justify an action no one else was all that likely to question, Demyx shook his head and started by cooking up one of the cupped noodles. He used the kettle off the stove to boil water and took it off the heat just before it started to whistle, and kept time on the screen of his phone without setting an alarm- and altogether he’d done an awesome job of not being an obnoxious presence while he worked. If he could say so himself. He had just peeled off the paper lid and plunged a fork into his cup when he heard a sharp tapping sound followed quickly by Vexen pulling open the door. 

“Happy Friday, Vex.” A deep and somewhat gravelly voice said amiably a breath later, followed by a similar greeting from another voice, which Demyx figured was also male. 

“Yes yes… what is _that_ -?” Vexen snapped, to which Demyx heard a chuckle. 

“ _That_ is a roll cake.” The second voice answered evenly, his tone as smooth as water sliding down a pane of glass, and rolling with the slightest pitch of an accent Demyx couldn’t quite place. “And I don’t care if it’s against your diet because it isn’t _for_ you.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Vexen scorned. Someone sighed, but the other voice argued back as effortlessly as if Vexen hadn’t insulted his dish at all. 

“It’s delicious, actually. Red velvet and cream, and those are fresh strawberries just there. And I am going to eat the entire thing, and if you don’t like it you’ll just have to cope with it on your own time, because we have _work_ to do just now.” 

Demyx perched uncomfortably on the edge of a stool, well out of sight and hoping to stay that way, feeling a little numb. Vexen had been pretty adamant about the ‘do not bother my friends’ rule, and that probably meant ‘do not be seen by my friends’ really. Yet, here Demyx was, trapped in the kitchen holding a paper cup of quickly aging ramen, with at least two strangers between him and the refuge of his bedroom. What should he do? 

While he worried he could hear the men settling in in the living room, comparing small-talk of their weeks (to which Vexen notably left out mention of his road trip to collect Demyx), and moving small things around. There were sounds like the flutter of paper and something like a handful of marbles being set on the table- altogether things Demyx couldn’t begin to guess the nature of. He wasted as much time as he dared, eating his food and throwing away the cup, pouring a generous stream of chocolate into a tall glass of milk and stirring with as little clinking as possible. He’d have to sneak past and into the bedroom at some point, he knew. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the guests were here to stay a while. Demyx braced himself and looked for an opportune moment. 

It wasn’t until someone sniffed followed by a low-voiced question to Vexen that conversation really picked up again- and it was only when it did that Demyx dared to creep out into the room, head down and shoulder brushing the far wall. 

“Please tell me you haven’t…?” The heavier voice was saying to Vexen, who Demyx could see from the corner of his eye perched on the arm of the couch, holding a wine glass in his nearer hand. 

“As a matter of fact,” Vexen replied, a bit defensively, “Marluxia and I have talked it out like adults and decided that it is in the best interests of us both to give it another try.” Someone groaned loudly and Demyx hesitated a moment, glancing up with unconquerable curiosity- and he might be glad that he did. 

The groaner was the smaller of two men, and the one sitting on his knees on the carpet before the round table- also holding a glass of what was likely white wine. He was pale and narrow, and had a curtain of dark hair and darker clothes, black jeans and a lavender collar sticking out over the trim of a stylishly-oversized grey sweater. He looked disproportionally tiny because just behind him the other man was still standing, holding a squat glass in one massive hand and leaning the other on a rolling cart Demyx had never seen before- which seemed to be stocked with an ice bucket and scoop, napkins, and at least two glass bottles. His shoulders had to be twice as wide as Demyx’s, and he was at least five inches taller, with ginger curls brushed away from his face and a scowl Demyx could make out even though he was mostly faced away from him. He wore khakis and a sweatshirt, the sleeves bunched up around a pair of strikingly muscular forearms. 

Demyx looked up just in time to see the smaller man tip his glass up as though the beverage within was a shot and not a sipping-drink, down the contents in two sizable gulps, and then extend a thin arm up and towards the other stranger. His voice was just as smooth as before, but hardened like ice when he spoke next. 

“Be a dear and top me up with your scotch, because I will _not_ do this conversation sober.” He demanded. Demyx gaped, forgetting to move on down the way while he had the chance. Vexen huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically, even as the larger man unscrewed the lid of a bottle and poured something amber-colored into the glass. 

“Ugh, you’re such a drama queen.” Vexen countered, curling his lip in distaste. 

“And _you_ are a glutton for punishment.” 

“Now children, play nice.” The gravelly giant urged. 

“Why can’t you just be pleased-” Vexen was halfway into what might have become a rant, but he had caught sight of Demyx, and upon catching the draw of his attention, both other men had within a second turned to look at him too. Demyx’s face burned with embarrassment and he looked away quickly, ducking his head and shuffling towards the hallway. His mouth moved in a rushed apology, but whether or not anyone heard it he couldn’t have guessed. 

What else he couldn’t have guessed was that he might be followed. 

“Well, hello there!” The smaller of the strangers called out lightly, setting his glass down and leaping to his feet, catching up to Demyx in only two or three strides. Demyx froze, turned back towards him, and waited for the firing squad to take aim. The stranger was indeed somewhat small, even standing upright with far superior posture he was noticeably shorter than Demyx, but all the same there was something almost commanding about his presence. Over his shoulder Vexen was glaring daggers however, so the friendly tone did nothing to ease Demyx’s nerves. “I didn’t know you were even here- how rude of Vexen not to introduce us.” 

Demyx’s gaze darted between his cousin’s obvious ire and the unreadable face before him. His eyes- though Demyx only had a clear view of one due to vastly overgrown bangs- were a strange shade of blue. They were something near purple, dark and vivid against the pallor of his face, which was heart-shaped and very nearly void of blemishes. Demyx’s first thought was that he was rather cute, almost pretty really. His second was that there was something off about his smile, something impish or devious even- and when paired with the weight of his undivided, unblinking attention it was a little unsettling. 

The third thought however is the one that matters, because Demyx’s third thought was that Vexen was over there looking nothing short of murderous and this other man had _definitely_ seen the expression reach his face before he had said anything. 

“Never mind- I’m Zexion.” He offered a hand to shake, which Demyx took dumbly, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear or turn and run in any direction until he was too lost to be found. He would take the rain and the cold and the fear of stumbling unbeknownst into the wrong side of town over a situation like this one just now. _Stupid, stupid_ … he should have crept by when he had the chance! “This over there is Lexaeus.” He gestured towards the giant after dropping Demyx’s hand. The blond nodded. 

“Hi. I’m, um, Demyx.” 

“Well met.” Lexaeus offered lightly. Zexion had taken a step backwards, further into the living room, but he was smiling again. Vexen’s arms were crossed, and Demyx could have sworn he saw one of his eyes actually _twitch_. 

“Uh! Sorry to intrude.” Demyx offered hurriedly as soon as his voice found him. “I didn’t mean to bother anybody or anything, I was just on my way through, see, so, uh- nice to meet you then!” He was just turning tail to flee for his life when the man called Zexion spoke up again. 

“Nonsense! Why don’t you come and sit down? We were just getting ready to play, and there’s always room for another.” 

“I’m sure Demyx is tired.” Vexen added in tightly, to which Demyx tried hard to smile and agree. 

“Don’t be a spoil-sport.” Zexion admonished with the same ease he used to speak about his cake such a short time ago. “It’s his first weekend here, so we should celebrate and make him feel welcome.” He smiled sweetly at Vexen even as he took Demyx by the elbow and guided him back into the living room. Demyx followed mutely, heart clenching and unclenching inside of him with force enough to physically hurt- but he couldn’t be _rude_. What was he supposed to do? 

Vexen uncrossed his arms, frowning but apparently defeated, and reached for his glass of wine. 

Zexion urged Demyx to sit on the carpet to the left of where his area had already been set up, with his wine glass of liquor and a narrow binder full of… something- as well as a small square styrofoam box that could only hold the aforementioned roll cake. Across the table from there was a plastic folder with little tabs sticking out the top, which was too neatly organized to belong to anyone but Vexen. To the right was a pile of white papers folded in half, behind which Lexaeus settled down. He crossed his legs and regarded Demyx with a hard face and small eyes. Demyx tried to guess what might lie behind the expression, found himself utterly lacking in the necessary people-reading skills, and dropped his gaze soon after. There were other things on the table, he realized only then. There were… weird things. 

In the center of the round table was a hexagon built out of wood trim, sanded smooth, the inside of which was lined in green felt. Nearby were two empty velvet bags large enough to hold spare change or some such thing, and a few piles of… dice? Yes, _dice_ , in multiple colors and sizes- mostly of the standard shape but a few looking odd to Demyx. One was very large and nearly a sphere, it had so many sides. Another- of which there were only two or three- looked like diamonds. 

Zexion bent to flip open his binder and turn to a page near the middle, scanned it quickly and took himself to the white board, where he whipped up the blue marker, uncapped it, and began marking out names and stats in the very same swooping script Demyx had observed along the top the day before. As he did this, Demyx sipped shyly from his glass of milk and tried to avoid eye contact without _looking_ like he was trying to avoid eye contact. Lexaeus cleared his throat. 

“So, you’re the mysterious cousin Vexen has told us nothing about.” He prodded gruffly. Demyx’s ears burned. 

“ _Next_ to nothing!” Zexion corrected cheerily over his shoulder, halfway now through lining in what Demyx realized was becoming a rough map. “I recall hearing about you living an annoyingly long way from here, and that you’d be staying a while. Is that right?” 

Demyx nodded, realized Zexion probably couldn’t see him from this angle, and said, “Yeah. I, uh… I used to live down outside of Fisherman’s Horizon- that’s a couple hours from Atlantica.” Zexion hummed and Lexaeus nodded. Vexen sipped from his glass with pursed lips. 

“Good luck with the cold and rain, in that case.” The largest man said. Demyx glanced up at him and was surprised to find he looked unexpectedly sympathetic. His face didn’t seem built to twist that way, but he managed it. “I’m originally from a bit of a warmer place, too- Balamb. I didn’t know weather could be this miserable this much of the time until my family came here.” 

“Why have you come, anyway?” Zexion added idly, giving off the impression of half-listening, though it didn’t seem to stop him from contributing to the topic at hand. Demyx hesitated, fighting to keep his expression even. _Do not grimace_. His eyes darted to Vexen, uncertain and heart pounding. How much had he told them, really? Was there really nothing more to it than Zexion implied? How much exactly ought Demyx to say? Rescuing him before the pregnant silence could drag on long enough to be considered unreasonable; Vexen swallowed and cut in curtly. 

“A change of scene was in order, as I understand it. And a desire for the ‘city-living experience’.” Demyx let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and managed a wide smile. 

“Heh, yeah.” He agreed quickly. “And boy is it different! I was lost practically all day on the subway- I was afraid Vexen’d have to send out a missing person’s alert or something.” His voice tilted the way it always did when he opened his mouth and too many words tumbled out, something that boarderlined a twang, which clearly gave away his flyover-country origins. “But at least I didn’t get lost on the way to my appointment, so there’s that.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” Lexaeus supposed. 

“That’s right. You had something to do with schooling to set up today…” Vexen mused. Demyx glanced at him and couldn’t help but wonder if he was contributing now because he was getting used to the idea of Demyx’s intrusion, or if he was trying to help him dodge sticky topics. Or maybe he was just that keen not to talk to Zexion about the flower-buyer and whatever relationship that had become last night. Demyx decided that it didn’t matter much- so long as no one was actively fuming it was all fine enough. 

“Yeah. I, uh- I’m set up as just a part-time student right now… but that gives me the time to really catch up and to hopefully get a job and all that, so I’m glad.” Vexen didn’t look especially glad himself, but Demyx ignored it. 

“RGU?” Lexaeus guessed. Demyx winced a little but shook his head. 

“HBCC.” He corrected. 

“That’s nice.” Zexion said as he capped the marker and set it back on the ledge. “It’s not a bad place to get a clean start, and it’s not as impossible to navigate to and from as RGU, either. They do all sorts of things in that complex, and actually the library is surprisingly decent for a public one in a city that also has a big university.” He settled down onto his knees at Demyx’s right and busied himself with opening his take-out box. 

“Zexion is my contemporary at the university.” Vexen filled in, lifting his chin in a visual swell of pride. “He’s studying linguistics and psychology. We’re at the same level in our doctorate programs. And Lexaeus recently acquired his degree in criminology and is interning with the city police department to become a detective.” 

Demyx’s mouth went dry, and he tried hard not to gape. Whoa, Vexen wasn’t kidding when he said his friends were a bunch of intellectuals. No wonder he thought they wouldn’t have the patience for him! Demyx was obviously more than a little out of place among minds like theirs. Zexion took a bite of his cake with a roll of his eyes, and then waved his plastic fork dismissively. 

“Why don’t you tell him I like long walks on the beach and late-night rendezvous too, while you’re at it?” He drawled. 

“I only thought it was fair he learned a bit about each of you, while we’re at it.” Vexen argued, though Demyx noted his ears turning pink. 

“I’d rather he learn a bit about tabletop, if we’re doing that.” 

“It’s a game.” Lexaeus filled in immediately, resting his elbows on the tabletop and focusing his attention on Demyx while simultaneously managing to cut off what might have been shaping up into some kind of verbal battle-royale. “You take a bunch of characters and put them in a setting, and then depending on how you strategize and what your luck is, you see the story pan out.” 

“Demyx doesn’t need to know about that.” Vexen said hotly. “Besides, it’s too complicated for him and we’ve already wasted enough time tonight as it is.” 

“Nonsense.” Zexion had that look about him again, that sickly-sweet, sly little smile. He set his fork down and scooted over a bit, nearer to Demyx, sliding his binder with him as he went. “You have a good imagination, don’t you Demyx? I imagine you’d have to, to envision a hairstyle like that.” Demyx grimaced and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, but Zexion’s smile held strong and effortless. 

“We’re more than halfway through a campaign and he doesn’t even have a _character_.” Vexen reasoned. 

“He can borrow a support NPC. You should know by now that I always have mine all set up like real characters when I narrate.” Zexion flipped pages in his book, popped open the jaws, and tugged out a sheet of printer paper. Demyx leaned forward to study it, taking in the printed lines which made it resemble an official questionnaire- except it had blanks for things like: _skills, beliefs, equipment_ , and _aspirations_. Each line was filled in with tidy cursive letters in dark blue ink, spelling out the details to a fictional person’s motives and thoughts. 

“I-I don’t want to… intrude or anything…” Demyx murmured sheepishly, looking between the page before him, Zexion’s expectant expression, and Vexen’s frustrated one. 

“Not at all.” Zexion pushed cheerily, resting a hand on Demyx’s nearer shoulder. 

“The more the merrier, I guess.” Lexaeus agreed with a shrug. 

“Besides,” Zexion added, that ice returning to his tone, though it didn’t show in any other part of him. “We’ll need a third player trained and ready to go for when Vexen inevitably determines that a sexual relationship is more important to him than maintaining friendships that have spanned years.” Vexen scoffed loudly and Demyx flinched, wondering if that veiled ire was really merited at all. That was a little low. Lexaeus, already shaping up to be the voice-of-reason type in Demyx’s mind was slow to recant it, though. 

“Come on, play nice.” Was all he offered really. “Who’re you giving him?” 

“Don’t give him Noctis.” Vexen spat, finishing off his glass of wine and sliding to the floor, flinging open his folder with abandon and pulling out a sheet much like the one Zexion had given Demyx. “He’s over-powered and it wouldn’t be fair.” 

“I’ve given him Prompto.” Zexion answered, casual and light again. He stretched his arms and slid closer to his previous position before meeting Demyx’s gaze again. “He’s a lighthearted, foolish friend, but he isn’t a bad guy- and he happens to be one of the only characters not affected by an injury after last week’s debacle, seeing as he spent most of it passed out under the bar, so that should give you enough of a leg-up to get used to things. And I’ll help you, of course.” He winked. 

“Don’t help him cheat!” Vexen demanded, pointing a bony finger across the table at his friend. “I will be watching you, narrator or no- you can’t escape me, and I may not be leading next month, but I have a _long_ memory.” Zexion laughed, and Lexaeus smiled and tried to fill Demyx in. 

“Last week, the crew had a round of awful luck. They stopped in a questionable town and got into some trouble with the locals at the pub. Apparently the people of the region were a lot tougher than they supposed, and a lot more aggressive towards the crown.” 

“Yes, and now you’ve all got prices on your heads and you’re still miles away from home- and half of you have level two injuries. Not to mention your decided failure at adhering to the month’s objective.” Zexion agreed, bouncing very slightly in his seat. It gave Demyx the strangest impression that he actively enjoyed the story taking wrong turns like that. There was something a little bit more gleeful than one ought to be, discussing the battle-wounds of very unlucky characters. He was a little bit sadistic, wasn’t he? 

“Um… kay.” Demyx said, glancing towards Vexen and then studying his character page. “But… what do I do?” 

“Nothing at first.” Lexaeus said. “You can just listen if it’s easier, but pipe in if you think of something your guy would say or do. Some actions have to be rolled, but we’ll walk you through that when you need it.” 

“It’s like writing a story.” Zexion explained simply. “Only every now and then destiny steps in and makes our decisions for us.” He held up the largest and roundest of the dice between two fingers, turning it for Demyx to see all twenty sides. 

“You’ll get it.” 

“Can we please get started? I’m growing old over here.” Vexen complained, though if Demyx hadn’t known better, he’d say his tone was a little more teasing than irritated, now. He couldn’t bring himself to trust it though. As kids Vexen had not been so easily disarmed, so maybe he was surrendering the battle to win the war? Personally, Demyx didn’t actually want to fight anybody at all. 

“My apologies, grandpa.” Zexion grinned, and in another moment he was relating a tale of magic and political intrigue, of fugitives from a ruthless conquering empire and the prince they sought to smuggle to safety through the wild landscape. In another two hours Demyx’s side hurt from laughing and Lexaeus’ character was pretty effectively screwed, and Vexen’s had quit everything and tried to join a monastery on their way past one, and Zexion had proven himself to be something of an unyielding and merciless god. 

Demyx hadn’t known that something so simple could be so fun, or that Vexen even had a sense of humor at all. Even when they were little he couldn’t remember his cousin being so sharply sarcastic without meaning any harm. Even as children Demyx had no memories of him leaning back against the edge of a couch with his hands in his hair, groaning in exaggerated defeat but _almost_ smiling all the same. 

It had to have been a delusion conjured up by Demyx’s tired mind. It had to be, because it was too nice, too easy once he settled down into it. Reality was never that way, especially on rainy Friday nights in mid-September, too long until Christmas for the seasonal spirit and too long after summer for the warmth to linger inside. 

It had to be imaginary, as much so as this complex game of play-pretend, but Demyx had always liked the fantasy, so he could welcome it now. He welcomed it like chocolate milk and plush carpet and _Choco Chocobo_ billboard ads. 

And for just a moment, fleeting like a sliver of sunlight between clouds, it really wasn’t all that bad. 

o.0.o.0.o.0.o 

_Or am I Origami: End_

o.0.o.0.o.0.o

**Author's Note:**

> So I missed Zemyx Day this year and I am sad about that. But here- have a slightly-overemotional story about roleplay gaming and dark, dirty secrets! Also, the chapter titles probably reference something going on up in there, but they are a thing you can take or leave as you please.
> 
> Finally, I don't claim any ownership of anything except feelings. Least of all the game rules the boys are using, which are (loosely?) based on Cogent Roleplay. You might like to look it up sometime, just because the fellows who came up with it and released it to the public (Tabletop Time on youtube) are interesting and clever.
> 
> (Thanks for checking this odd little idea out this far! No pressure of course, but, y'know... leaving a review would be a pretty cool thing to do.)


End file.
